


Bedtime Stories

by Medie



Series: Plans-verse [2]
Category: CSI: NY
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-15
Updated: 2010-08-15
Packaged: 2017-10-11 02:55:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/107578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medie/pseuds/Medie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You know Don. He's exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep. You know how to fix that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bedtime Stories

**Author's Note:**

> written for the latest Porn Battle. cis-female!Mac/Don Flack

You get in late. Double shifts and a triple homicide mean your eyes are gritty and tired by the time you get home. You don't really remember unlocking the door, but you get inside anyway, locking it behind you.

The shower wakes you up some, but not enough. You're asleep within seconds of hitting the mattress.

You wake around dawn with the feeling of the bed dipping. For a second, you tense, ready for a fight, and then you recognize the smell of Don's aftershave and you remember. You gave him a key ("My place is closer," you said, awkwardly, like it needed a justification. "In case you need to crash.") last month.

He wraps an arm around you and curls around you, his face in your hair. "Morning Detective."

You grin and turn toward him. His arm slides to rest on your breast. Your grin widens when his fingers cop a feel. He looks like you feel. Dark circles under his eyes, exhaustion written into every feature.

You reach out, tracing the shell of his ear. Don's ticklish. He shivers and squirms, but keeps his eyes closed. "Mac."

"Mm?" You hum, trying for innocent. Your fingers follow the line of his jaw, his stubble rasping against your fingertips, evidence of the kind of shift he had. Too tired to shave. It was that kind of night.

"Watcha doing?" he slurs, yawning.

You chuckle and close the distance, brushing a kiss over his lips. "Putting you to bed."

You know Don. He's exhausted, but too keyed up to sleep. You know how to fix that. You slide your leg over his, tugging him toward you as your hand skims his bare back. Your touch brushes over scars, cataloging them as you pass. There's too many for your liking, but you say nothing. You're professionals, you know how the job works, and you're not going to try and tell him otherwise.

Not even when the memory of his blood on your hands, his body broken before you, makes your stomach lurch.

You kiss him, harder than you'd intended, trying to banish the memory.

"Hey," he mumbles into the kiss, sensing your unease. "What?"

You shake your head. "Long night."

He nods, accepting your excuse, and kisses you again. Harder, his hands in your hair as he chases your mouth, teasing and playing with you. His body, half-hard already, rocks against yours eagerly and you return the favor. The tension is there for both of you and you're fumbling before long, tugging and pushing at each others clothes.

Don strips off your tank, you shove down his boxers, his mouth goes to your breast and you slide a hand over his cock. He moans and you gasp. Then you break away, looking up at him as you shimmy down the bed.

"Fuck," he breathes, watching you. His pupils are dilated, the irises slim circles of sharp blue. "Mac."

Your fingers stroke him, holding him with a firm grip. He likes it, hips straining against your hand.

You put your hand on his hip, a silent command to stay still.

Don huffs a laugh, voice strained as he says, "So, that's how it's gonna be, huh? Should've brought your cuffs, Detective."

You slide your mouth over him, pleased by the way his voice breaks into a wordless moan. When you're ready and he's a second away from exploding, you look up, "Careful, Flack, I might take you up on that." You like the idea, actually, but not as much as he does. You can tell when he really pictures it, watching sweat bead across his forehead and his breathing pick up. "Correction," you say, fingers teasing him, "I will take you up on that."

You like the image too. When you're riding him, breath burning in your lungs, you close your eyes and let it carry you over the edge. It's a hell of a way to fall.


End file.
